The house was eerily quiet as Reuben opened the front door. All evidence of the Christmas festivities had been cleared away, every surface sparkling, the cushions plumped. Only the Christmas tree remained – a gaudy, glittering sentinel standing guard over the living room.
In the kitchen, the only sign of recent habitation was a bowl and spoon draining on the dish rack. He went into the bedroom and dropped his overnight bag on the floor. The bed was neatly made as usual, with the frilled pillows perched on top and Carlene’s battered childhood teddy propped against them.
He’d only been gone a night but it felt like a year. He felt a strange sense of disassociation, as if everything had changed in his absence and he was now a stranger in his own home. And where was Carlene? Was this her ide
